


a pity beyond all telling

by WriterGirl128



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Emotional Hurt, Episode: s04e01 Code of Honor, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Internalized racism, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keithtober 2019, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 03:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: Keith had never been easy to cry, before, but—maybe space was making him soft. Maybe Regris’ death was having a heavier toll on him than he realized.(He never meant to make everything such a mess. All he wanted was to get to know the Blades, learn more about himself and his past. And now his friends were upset. And Allura was disappointed. And Shiro wasangrywith him for the first real way in... maybe ever, and Keith had never meant to screw things up so spectacularly.)





	a pity beyond all telling

**Author's Note:**

> timeline: post-Regris-death
> 
> title from William Butler Yeats's poem "The Pity of Love"
> 
> Rated T for language

“Way to show up, _Keith._”

He wasn’t sure what was more surprising—the genuine anger in Lance’s voice, or the severe lack of hair-based-nicknames.

Keith huffed a breath, pulling his bayard free from the droid’s chest as the training room _dinged _the simulation complete. His breath came in shallow pants through burning lungs, and the way his hair stuck to the nape of his neck made gooseflesh rise on his skin. There was a pressure pounding through his temples: adrenaline, anger, anxiety. He so wasn’t in the mood for this.

“What do you want?” There was an unsteadiness to his voice that came off as abrasive—but Keith would take sharp words over shaky, cracking vulnerability any day of the week. He let the sword fade back into its original configuration once more, clipping it to his belt as he turned to retrieve his fallen Marmora knife across the room. “I’m busy.”

“Not surprising,” Lance groused to his back. “Seems like you’re always busy, these days.”

Keith grit his teeth, bending down to grab at the weapon. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you left us to fend for ourselves,” the other paladin fired back, and though Keith straightened, he couldn’t make himself face Lance. “_Team leader.”_

Keith shook his head and, horrifyingly enough, felt frustrated pinpricks in the backs of his eyes. He’d never been easy to cry, before, but—maybe space was making him soft. Maybe Regris’ death was having a heavier toll on him than he realized. “I never _wanted _to be the leader,” he ground out.

Lance barked out a sour laugh, and it was—wrong_, _wrong, _wrong_. Lance’s laughs weren’t supposed to sound like that. They were supposed to be sunlight, and fresh air, and the ocean at high tide. They weren’t supposed to be bitter and ugly, and the sound of it pulled at Keith’s chest like a lead weight. “You didn’t want to be the leader,” Lance parroted back, almost mockingly. “Well—news flash? None of us wanted this. You think we want to be out here, a million and one lightyears away from our homes, fighting in a war that was never ours to begin with? Absolutely not. But you don’t see us leaving the team hanging high and dry—so why should you get to?”

Keith swallowed around the lump swelling in his throat. “I didn’t—” he began, and broke off. He could still hear the explosion, could still feel the intensity of the fire as it pushed him away, a solid wall of flame and heat. Could see the doors shut forever on his fellow Blade. On his friend. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging, alright? It won’t happen again.”

“Bullshit.”

Keith spun on his heel, blinking incredulously. Lance hardly ever swore. Not in a way that was _serious, _anyway. “Excuse me?”

Lance crossed his arms over his chest, eyes flicking down to the knife still gripped in Keith’s hand before finding his face again. “I said that’s _bullshit,_” he repeated, and frowned. “You say it’s not going to happen again, but we both know that it will.”

Keith opened his mouth silently, and closed it again. Lance was so_ sure, _and that hurt. Stung in a way that Keith wasn’t expecting. “I,” he stammered, that prickle growing infuriatingly hotter, “I won’t…”

He never meant to make everything such a mess. All he wanted was to—get to know the Blades. Learn more about a part of his past, a part of _himself _that, until a few months ago, had been shrouded in shadows and abandonment and _pain_. And now his friends were upset. And Allura was disappointed. And Shiro was _angry _with him for the first real way in… maybe ever, and Keith had never meant to screw things up so spectacularly.

“You won’t what?” Lance prompted, furrowing his brow deeper as he took a step closer. “You won’t prioritize the Blades over the team, again? Can you _really _make that promise?”

Keith clenched his teeth, _hard. _“What the hell is your problem?” he grit out, because it’s so much safer to be sharp than honest. “What is everyone’s _problem _with me trying to just—just help the Blades? Take a few extra missions here and there? Take five fucking minutes to try a-and get to learn something about where I come from?”

Lance’s gaze studied Keith as he spoke, and _fuck, _there was a poorly-concealed shakiness there that Lance definitely caught on to, if the way his expression softened was any indication. Keith worked his jaw, reigning it in once more as Lance took a step closer to him. Slowly, less hostile.

“Our _problem,_” Lance replied after a moment, a lot less harshly than before, “is that we need to be able to count on you. Without you, we can’t form Voltron. This is war, and today—today it was just a show of arms, but tomorrow it could be people’s _lives _on the line. We need you to be there, Keith. Whether you like it or not, you’re our leader, and we _need _you to step up.”

“_Alright,”_ Keith bit out, a razor’s edge, and turned to gather his belongings from the bench. _Run, run, run, _his mind screamed. “I get it. You win. I’m sorry.”

From behind him, there was a long, heavy sigh. “_Keith—”_

“No, you’re right,” he cut Lance off, and prayed that his voice wasn’t as unsteady as it felt. He tossed his water into his bag, vision blurring. “You’re right, Lance. I’ll step up. Screw the Blades. You’re right. You win.”

A groan arose, followed by approaching footsteps. “Keith, no—I’m not trying to _win, _I’m trying to, to understand, okay? And trying to get _you _to understand, but you just—you keep shutting us out, and getting _angry—”_

“I’m not the one who stormed in here picking a fight,” Keith fired back, and quickly wiped at his eyes, back still turned. “Look—I’m _sorry _about today, alright? It won’t happen again. I’ll quit the Blades stuff, whatever.” 

He didn’t want to quit the Blades. He was finally starting to _understand _himself.

He didn’t want his only real friends in the universe to hate him, though, either.

When he continued, his voice was rough. “It’s fine,” he croaked. “You win. I’ll do better, I’ll be good. Now just—can I please just go?”

Lance stayed quiet for a stretch of time, then, and the silence that settled around them was heavy. Keith was horrified to hear the echo of his words, the crack down the middle of them, the vulnerability shining through like someone had taken a flashlight to all his missing pieces. He tried to swallow it back as he heard Lance take two, three steps closer.

“Listen, man,” he heard, a low voice that was clearly meant to sooth yet brought Keith little comfort. “I’m not saying—don’t quit the Blade stuff. That’s not what I’m saying. We know how much it means to you.”

“Do you?” Keith shot back, more out of instinct than anything, though it came out weaker than he’d like. He tightened his jaw and released it before slowly turning to face Lance again, tired and defeated. “I don’t have a _family_,” he professed, his voice withered. “If by some miracle we put an end to this war, you guys all—you have people waiting for you to get back, but I don’t. Okay? Earth has never been a home to me. I don’t have anywhere to _go._”

Lance swallowed, and if Keith were more coherent, if he didn’t have storms of emotion bursting from his seams, he might’ve been able to recognize his expression as pity. It would’ve made him angry, if he did. He always hated pity. Pity for the kid with the dead dad, for the kid with no friends, for the kid that no one wanted to adopt. Pity for the kid who would read, or write, or draw pictures of a fantasy life where things didn’t _hurt _while the rest of the class made homemade Mother’s Day cards.

It would’ve made him angry, seeing the pity in Lance’s eyes. But all he felt was _hollow, _even as Lance spoke gently. “Keith, the Blade isn’t your family.”

“They could be,” he fired back quickly, but forlornly, his voice a croak. There was an odd tone of desperation to his words that he couldn’t pull back, despite how much he loathed it. “You don’t—you don’t _get it. _There have been two people in my life that have given a shit about me; one of them is dead, and the other—” he lifted an accusing arm in the general direction of the bridge, “—can’t even speak to me without pointing out every little mistake I’m making, like I don’t already know them myself. Like I’m not already beating myself up over them.”

Lance shook his head, his eyes sad. “Keith—”

“And now,” Keith barreled on, because _Lance _was the one complaining about him _shutting them out,_ “I finally get a chance to connect in some fucked up way to this alien heritage that I _apparently have, _because my nonexistent mother is a member of the most horrific race in the universe, and not only do I have one of my only friends _harping _on me about it, but it turns out that some of the Blade ideologies are _just as fucked up _as the Empire’s.” Keith let out a laugh, then, involuntary and wet and bitter. “Which I should’ve seen coming, I guess, because at the end of the day they’re all still _Galra, _and I guess that alone explains a lot about why I’m so fucked up, too.”

A hand reached towards him, before dropping back to Lance’s side. “_Keith.”_

“And I’m just—” Keith broke off, sniffing, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to stem the insistent tears. When had that prickle become a burn so fierce that it was making his eyes water? “I’m so confused. And I wanted so badly to finally _fit _somewhere, with the Blades, but I _don’t_, a-and I’m pissed off, and Regris is dead and _nobody cares, _and Shiro’s always been a better fit for the Black Lion and he should just take over again because I can’t _do this.”_

A breath—ragged and hot and horrible—rattled through his teeth, making them chatter. He tried to take another breath to steady himself, but it got stuck somewhere in his constricted throat.

“Keith,” Lance repeated, but it was distant. “We—the paladins, the team, we’re…”

“I just—” He didn’t even know if the words would be distinguishable, muffled by the hands still covering his face and clenched out with barely any air behind them. “When we don’t need Voltron anymore, I thought maybe I could, the Blades—you’ll all be, be with your families, and I’m gonna be_—_this is all I _have. _Voltron, and the Blades. It’s all I have.”

Then there were hands on his shoulders. A gentle voice, sad and concerned and void of any dregs of anger. “Hey. Hey, mullet—‘s okay. You're alright. Just breathe, buddy.” A pause, just the barest hesitation. “Who’s—who’s Regris?”

Keith dropped his arms, shaking the hands off and taking a step back. It was—too much. He’d barreled forward because Lance wasn’t _getting it, _and he revealed too much. Lowered his walls too far, but then, that was always an issue he’s had. He didn’t lower them often, but when he did, they crumbled to the ground unchecked and undeserved. He couldn’t let those parts of himself be _seen_.

“Doesn’t matter,” he grit out, wiping his eyes and trying to pull himself together. He readjusted the bag on his shoulder and brushed past Lance, wide-eyed and worried. Moving briskly, as fast as his legs would carry him without running outright. It was hot, his eyes were hot, and he had to _leave _before Lance could see. “I didn’t mean to let you all down.”

Lance, either too stunned to intercede or too wise to try, let him go without a word. 

*******

Shiro had told him that his connection with the Black Lion had been severed, but Keith knew that wasn’t true. He could feel it, in the back of his mind, nestled up warmly within the depths of Black’s consciousness. Shiro was there.

And he knew that when the time came, Shiro would take over_—_he just needed the push to do it. Luckily the opportunity presented itself quickly, and luckier still, Keith was already preoccupied on a Blade mission when it did.

Soon enough Shiro was in Black again, and Keith wouldn’t be able to disappoint them anymore.

His teammates—_former teammates—_watched him exit with teary eyes, but not one asked him to stay.


End file.
